


Marked as My Own

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Of Wax, Lace, and Other Inconsequential Things [1]
Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: M/M, Oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up in the House of Wax is unsettling no matter the circumstances- but waking up twice there in one night- once in the attraction, and once in the workshop below- is enough to drive Lace to do anything to get himself free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked as My Own

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written back in 2006. Recently, I decided I would like to revive my House of Wax writing, and opted to rewrite my series of fics staring my original character, Lace- back from my days of extremely girly men. Frankly, I enjoyed him too much to pass over these just because it included an original character.
> 
> My goal is to rewrite all the ones I have- there's two more in the original series- and then sit down to possibly write something completely new. We'll see.

The darkness felt like it was spinning, throbbing and hot and suffocating. Pink lips parted in a strangled groan as a lithe body rolled from back to side, thin arms pushing his torso up. Eyes squeezed shut, the young man sat up and ran his fingers through his raven curls, the tips brushing his shoulders as they cascaded around his face.

His name was Lace, a twenty-two year old waste of breath and space on his good days- according to his mother, back when he had still shared her roof in his young teenage years- and a strung out walking corpse on his bad. He was beginning to think this was one of his bad, from the feel of his head.

“Fuck,” he muttered, before sucking his lower lip into his mouth, tongue flicking at the two small metal studs pierced into the right of that plump flesh. What the hell had happened?”

He reached out for something to stable himself, his hand gliding along an oddly smooth feeling wall. Carefully he stood up, squinting into the darkness because his eyelids felt as if they weighed seven hundred pounds. Once he was up, he took a deep breath, slowly bounced on his feet, felt the tight pull of rough denim, tight on his legs- the feel of cotton swooshing along his torso, and told himself this was real.

A few minutes of standing and the pain was ebbing off, as the memories were fading in. Yes, he had gone out with a few of the girls he knew- the ones he worked with. Two were dancers, tight little things with overly done eyes and candy lips- and one got her money on her knees and back. Lace had no complaints- if it put a roof over his head and liquor in his belly, he was cool.

He shook his head, regaining himself, and shoved his old Slipknot shirt up his arm a bit- he had chopped at the color so it hung off his right shoulder significantly- then walked through the darkness, holding onto the wall, until he reached a doorway. The door felt funny, but like what he couldn’t say, as he pushed it open and burst into more darkness. He could see just a little bit, some pale moonlight streaming in from a window down below. Before him stood stairs with a slight, elegant curve.

He clung to the railing as he started down them, his free hand messing with his hair- pushing the two colored streaks that invaded his right eye back- a silly veil of purple and green- running over his eyelids, smudging kohl eyeliner, straightening the half ring in his septum. Trying to make himself presentable.

_Whatever shit they had must have been good. I wish I could remember. I’ll have to ask them- but dammit, where the hell are those girls?_

Halfway down the stairs Lace heard the door open and heavy footfalls, and he froze. A tall frame came into sight- not lithe as him, but muscled lean beneath layers of heavy black. The man didn’t notice Lace for a first moment, until his head turned towards the stairs and he stared. Something about his face wasn’t right- and it took Lace a moment to realize it was a mask, and not his actual face, that peeked out from behind that long, shaggy dark hair, a sort of muddy color that bordered on black.

“H-hi,” Lace stammered, trying to put on one of his cute smiles. His icy blue eyes gave away his terror though. He couldn’t even remember where he was, he was alone- and a big man in a mask had just shown up. Didn’t really sound like an ideal story to him. The man, though, didn’t speak, just stared sat Lace, who, after a deep breath, took another step down the stairs. “I’m a bit lost,” he admitted as he descended. “See, I was with a few girls I work with, we were out on a little joy ride, and...well, this is crazy, but honestly I don’t remember really how I got here. I just want to find them and get my ass home. Have you seen three girls walking around? Loud, probably a bit drunk off their asses- two have great tits, you could see ‘em from a mile away.”

Lace chuckled a bit, nervously, but the man didn’t say a word- Lace wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. Worrying his lip, he was only three stairs from the bottom now, and close to the man- close enough to reach out and possibly touch, graze him.

“Well, I’ll just go now,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “sorry if I, uh, disturbed you or something. I’ll just go find them and we’ll be on our way.”

When his feet touched the floor he expected the man to lunge at him- but he didn’t move. Forcing himself to walk slowly, Lace headed for the door, opened it just enough to slip out- could feel the man’s eyes on him, didn’t see the slight tilt of interest in watching him move- and closed it behind him.

The moment it closed he burst forward into a run.

The air was cold against his face, but he ignored it. The road was old and the slap of his low tops against it felt good, freeing. Part of him expected something to be chasing him, but a quick look back told him he was indeed alone.

“Hey!” he called out, hoping to get one of the girls. _Stupid cunts, who just leaves a guy when he passes out like that? I’d have at least gotten them to the car or something._ He slowed to a walk, breathing heavily, and shoved his hands in his pockets. He had no idea which way the car might be, and if they’d even be there. They might be passed out somewhere too.

He stopped and sighed, catching his breath. Maybe he could ask someone, there were other buildings with lights on- this might just be a sleepy little town.

Walking down a little stone path, he walked up to one lit house and knocked on the door. He thought he heard music playing inside, something old and crackling, as if it was a record.

“Hello,” he called, knocking again. “I don’t mean to bother you, I’m not form here and a bit lost. I was wondering if you could help.” Another knock, still nothing. “Hello?” He knocked again, before giving up and turning away, eyes falling across the street. There was a cute little church, quaint- and even if it was not his favorite place, Lace shrugged a pale shoulder and headed over, wondering if maybe it was open, since he could see lights on.

He reached the door and pushed it open, his eyes blinded for a moment by the light. He reached up to shield them, blinking furiously until the room came into view. There were people sitting in the pews, but none had turned to look at him. The only eyes staring at him were from the chubby priest, staring at him in distaste.

“Sorry,” Lace started, taking a step in. “I’m a bit lost-“ He stopped when he reached the first person, a middle aged woman- when she didn’t move to look at him at all. He reached out, touched her shoulder- cold, hard, not right. He dared to poke her cheek, and his finger hit smooth, hard wax. He pulled back quickly, cradling his hand to his chest as if he’d been burnt, and looked around frantically. Everyone had that glazed, unseeing look on their faces.

They were all wax.

“Oh what the fuck,” he muttered, taking a step backwards towards the door. Another, and then he turned on his heel, bursting out.

It didn’t make any sense. _Wax? Was that what it was? God, like some sick side show attraction or something. And a whole room full of it! What’s the fucking point? Does nobody here find that strange- Oh god, is there anyone here?_

Lace stopped in the middle of the road. There _had_ to be. He’d heard music playing, he’d seen that one guy- albeit, he was a bit creepy. No, there had to be real people- living, breathing people here, and not just sculptures.

Lace realized he’d retraced his steps, and he was back in front of the doors he had slipped from moments before. He looked up, saw in huge letters “House of Wax” labeled on the building. _Oh bloody great._ Sighed, he pushed the door back open and stepped back in. Maybe if he just hung out here, the girls would come back for him. They couldn’t just leave him- they needed him if they ever wanted to score anything good. Their favorite E dealer had the hots for Lace, after all- and he reminded them of that every time he hooked them up.

He had walked into a dining room when he heard footsteps again- this time two sets, heavy. Obviously not the girls. A bit nervous, Lace ducked down, slipping under the table and peering out at the feet that appeared moments later- black work boots, dusty and worn, both pairs.

“They’ll fit perfectly.” The feet stopped, were standing not too far away. “Mama wold be proud, they’re pretty. A shame you didn’t leave one long enough for me to enjoy.” A chuckle. “I’d say put one in the church, but they didn’t seem like those kinds of girls. I’m sure we can find something.”

Lace bit his lip, holding his breath. _What happened to them?_ Laced looked down at his hands, braced on the floor, at the black polish on his short nails, and could see he was trembling. He took a deep breath, then moved his head up-

Just in time to see the table cloth flutter and a strong arm reach in, grasp his bicep, and haul him out violently. Lace cried out, thrashed, but was dragged into the open air and hoisted up. He stumbled, nearly falling against the man who was holding him.

“And who the fuck is this?” the man asked, eyeing Lace with wild brown eyes. His hair matched the other man’s- but choppy and short. He had a mean sort of face, the kind that faked sweetness and charm- Lace knew, because he was good at faking things too.

“Let me go!” He yanked, twisted, stumbled again, and was turned around roughly, as the man laughed and said, “Here’s another one for you, Vincent!” before he released Lace against the wall, his head smacking against it. Lace felt the impact shudder through him, and then the world was black.

When the darkness ebbed, his head was throbbing again. Lace flexed his fingers and toes, squeezing his eyelids against the pain in his head- unsure for a fleeting moment as to why he hurt so badly. Then he remembered an iron grip on his arm and that wall crashing into his head, and he was tearing his eyes open, darting them around the room, heart pounding in his chest.

He saw the dark ceiling, everything was lit by flickering candles and a blazing hearth yards away. The room smelled heavily of wax and musk and that locked away smell things got when they were buried for so long. He wrinkled his nose and tried to sit up- was unable to do so. Lace looked at his arms, saw he was strapped down just above the wrist, could see a strap across his chest. He thrashed his legs, realized there was a strap around each ankle as well.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, the adrenaline from his fear clouding the pain in his head. He had to get himself free, he had to get _out_ of here. He licked his dry lips, toyed with the metal as he did when he was nervous, and suddenly the shadows moved.

He cried out, shocked, felt his heart lurch, and then the man was moving from them, parting them and stepping into his reality. His long hair fell over that mask- a pretty, unmarked thing, like a porcelain doll-

_Wax doll, probably_ Lace corrected himself.

Looking past the man as he approached, Lace saw a contraption across the room- a chair situated beneath a rain of small needle like hoses, hooked up to a vat of wax bubbling over the fire. The chair had an occupant, completely naked, her lower half covered in rough wax.

Lace paled and squirmed- he knew her, knew those messy brown curls and overly painted lips, perfect breasts that always got her the best tips. There was no mistaking the hold death had on her- the blank stare in her open eyes.

If she was dead, Lace assumed the other two were as well. He was all that was left. And if she was being covered in wax-

_Fuck, those people in the church. Were they...were they real beneath that wax? What the fucking hell is going on here?_

The man was touching him, running calloused fingers along Lace’s arm, studying his build. Lace didn’t flinch- the hands were warm, and not ungentle as he would have suspected.

“What the hell is this?” Lace finally asked, voice a bit hoarse. The man didn’t speak, traced up Lace’s shoulder and tilted his head away to study his neck. When those fingertips traced his buzzing pulse, Lace felt a little slick knot forming in his gut. “What did you do to them?”

No response, but the man tilted Lace’s face back, studied it, made a little sound behind that mask. Lace raised one delicate eyebrow, trained one of his arms against his bindings. The man- he had to have a name Lace realized, reached over him, pressed one large, warm hand down on that wrist. The skin on the top of his hand that was touched tingled, and Lace’s breath caught. _Am I drugged? Am I still high?_

Fingers toyed with the binding, and Lace’s mind raced. _This might be my chance. This guy, he doesn’t seem as bad as the other one. If I could just get through to him. Dammit...what was his name?_ He thought hard, and as fingertips touched his wrist, he remembered the only name he’d heard spoken.

“Vincent,” he whispered, and that head that had been examining the curve of his shoulder and neck snapped up. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” Nothing, but Lace knew he was right. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here- and I don’t need to know. If you just let me go, I swear I’ll disappear and no one will ever know about this. Those girls- there really isn’t anyone to miss them except their clients, and they can find new pussy anywhere.”

Fingers on the top of his hand again, toying with the restraint. “Please, Vincent,” Lace whispered, and suddenly it was loosening, and Lace pulled his slender hand through it. He flexed his arm, felt the table shift slightly as the man climbed onto it, straddled Lace’s slender frame. Lace kept from frowning- he knew he was too small to ever hope to throw the man off him- but at least he had one arm free. _Better than where I was a minute ago._

He wiggled around a bit, but Vincent’s weight kept him from doing much but pressing his hips up into him. The solid heat he met made Lace whimper softly, his cheeks flushing as the man stared down at him, through that mask quizzically. _Fuck. I shouldn’t be enjoying this...but something about him...I like it, whatever it is._

“Can you unstrap me?” Lace asked, his free hand reaching out and gripping onto Vincent’s thigh. His head snapped down to stare at that harmless hand, how it gripped into the thick fabric of his black cargo pants. It was slender and pale and oddly feminine.

Vincent looked up at Lace again, and then the strap along his chest was open, then his other wrist. His feet were left bound, but this was a good sign, Lace assumed. He began to sit up, forcing Vincent to slid back and straddled his hips and thighs. Lace braced himself with his free hand, the other gripping the fabric as his head spun a moment when he first rose.

“Thank you,” Lace whispered, deciding not to ask for more yet. If he did this right, if he was careful, maybe he could charm his way out. This man, this Vincent guy, seemed oddly intrigued by him.

Vincent reached out, his thumb tracing along Lace’s cheek, and the lithe man sat there patiently and late him, even as the hand wondered into his soft curls and tangled in them. Lace smiled, looking up through heavy lashes.

“You know, if you like someone, tying them up isn’t the best way to show it.” He teased, though if the man understood it, he didn’t show it. He kept untangling and tangling his hand in that hair, until his finger tips were brushing Lace’s scalp like the lick of a warm flame. It made his head fuzzy.

_I have to play along_ Lace mused, _I have to get him into this more. I can flirt my way out with this one- he doesn’t seem so bad._

One hand traced up the hard stomach he felt beneath the worn grey shirt, the chest, and the hand in his hair froze. Lace sucked on his lower lip as he toyed with the neckline of the skirt, fingertips just brushing warm skin, and Vincent was looking down at him.

“Come closer,” Lace whispered, and Vincent actually leaned down. Lace curled his fingers behind his neck, beneath that dark thick hair, and pulled him down more, steadying him, his other hand reaching up and pushing on the mask. Vincent went to jerk away, but it was displaced just enough in a moment, and Lace closed the gap, pressing his mouth to the waiting lips he found beneath the wax.

Vincent stilled instantly at the touch, didn’t even seem to breathe as Lace moved his mouth in a slow, sweet rhythm. He felt one hand tracing up his bicep, before an arm encircled him, pulled him close. He released his hold on Vincent’s neck and clung to his shirt as those lips finally moved- responded timidly, as if they didn’t know how to move- what to do.

Lace flicked his tongue against Vincent’s lips, felt them part as he tried gasp, and took the chance to slip inside. The tongue he found was limp, inexperienced, and he had to coax it to life, as one of his hands left Vincent’s shirt and trailed down, fingertips dancing against the skin just above the rim of his pants.

Lace’s lungs burned, and he had to pull back to breathe deep- in the moment he did that mask slipped back into place, but dark brown- nearly black- eyes still stared down at him, wide and confused, but so intrigued.

“Don’t looked so shocked sweetheart,” Lace whispered, painfully aware of the bindings still on his feet. “It’s just a kiss.”

Still no words- and those eyes darted away for a moment. Lace stared, his thoughts connecting and cauterizing. _God, no one’s ever kissed this guy. Oh man, he’s as virginal as they get._

“No one’s ever kissed you, have they?” Silence, and then a slow, careful shake of his head. Lace frowned. “Poor baby. Let me up, I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”

Lace didn’t think that would work- it was too obvious, too easy. But a moment later Vincent was moving off the table, and his ankles were freed. Quickly Lace threw his legs over the table and stood- but they had gone nearly numb, and he stumbled, fell against Vincent’s chest and clung to him. One arm encircled him and held him up, and Lace mumbled, “You’re too kind,” into his chest.

When he began to feel again, Lace steadied himself, then turned the two so Vincent was pushed against the lip of the table. He pushed a little more, and he hopped up, Lace standing between his legs. Smiling, Lace toyed with some of his hair, while the fingertips of his other hand walked up his thigh. His icy eyes were devious, and as much as he told himself this was for his survival, this was so he could get out alive- part of him was enjoying this, coming alive under that curious brown gaze- going nearly livid with the thoughts of so much hidden.

He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to the lips of the mask as his hand finally slipped between those thighs, pressing to Vincent’s crotch. Despite all the clothing, Lace could feel his manhood beneath it- half-hard but seeming to twitch against his touch. He heard a gasp behind the mask, felt Vincent twist a bit, as if to get away, and he frowned.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Lace whispered, stroking against the fabric slowly. “Promise- if I hurt you, you can slit me open from belly to neck, right here.” He took his hand from Vincent’s hair and traced up his stomach, tugging his shirt up slightly to reveal a pale, smooth expanse of skin.

He smiled, felt the man relax a little, and leaned closer, placing a gently kiss to the mask as his nimble fingers popped open the button to Vincent’s pants. He reached up again and pushed the mask up- just a bit- this time met with no resistance, and kissed that mouth again- this time the lips moving against his stronger, his kiss being returned within just a breath. His fingers grasped a the zipper and pulled it down as his tongue teased, before his hand delved in, beneath the waistband of Vincent’s underwear, and he had that burning hot sex against his palm, fully hard now like fiery steel.

He smiled against Vincent’s mouth as the man gasped, as he was freed and the air caressed him. Lace stroked him gently, carefully, so sure if no one had kissed this man before that no hand aside of his own had ever touched him in this way.

“Feel good?” he whispered, so coy, his thumb sweeping over the head of his cock and slicking with precum. Vincent groaned, pushed himself deeper into Lace’s hand, and he had his answer.

Smiling all the while, Lace leaned down, his tongue tracing along the head, down the underside- hearing breath exhale quickly, then a strangled, hoarse cry as he opened his mouth and swallowed him down.

This wasn’t the first cock Lace had shoved down near his throat- he’d had his share of guys who’d pay to have a pretty little mystery like him suck them off- he’d even had a handful of not-so-serious boyfriends in his years. Still, it was refreshing to hear someone so shocked at the feelings, to feel someone press towards him as if he was the only thing in the world.

Lace knew it wouldn’t take long- not if this was the man’s first experience. Sure enough, a few bobs of his head, his hand squeezing the base of Vincent’s cock, and the man shook and groaned and filled his throat with heated bitterness. Lace swallowed willingly, before pulling back and licking his lips.

In one fluid motion he was tucking Vincent back into his pants and leaned close, up, kissing the lips of the mask quickly. “Told you I wouldn’t hurt you,” Lace whispered, smiling, and a felt a hand reach up and stroke his hair- felt those eyes staring into him, pouring into his very being.

He waited a moment, then Vincent was moving, standing up, fixing his clothing, walking past Lace. Lace watched him go, off towards a desk by that contraption he had pushed out of his mind for some time, watched him rummage around, and for a moment felt his heart stop- as if it was all in vein, the man was still going to kill him-

But then Vincent was returning empty handed. He placed a finger to Lace’s lips- a motion to keep him silent- then took his slender hand and guided him through the workshop- up a set of steps that ended at old wooden doors he threw open. He helped Lace climb out, and Lace realized they were outside the House of Wax-

He’d been under it the whole time.

They kept to the shadows along the streets, though Vincent didn’t seem to be worried about being seen. Lace assumed the only other living person was the other man- the one who grabbed him- and that Vincent must know where he most likely was.

They reached a gas station and walked around it. Lace saw an old truck parked there, and when Vincent pulled open the driver’s door and motioned with his head, he dove onto the bench seat and scooted over, hands slipping on the plastic like leather seats. The door closed and Vincent had keys in his hands- Lace realized _that_ was what he had grabbed before, and they were moving, sweet lord they were _moving_.

Lace could have squealed with joy as they began the drive out of the little town- as the lights dimmed behind them. He turned onto his knees and stared out the dusty back window until it had all but faded into darkness, and they were on the open road.

Settling back down, Lace leaned against the window, closing his eyes for a moment. His head was throbbing again, his body feeling as if it weighed a thousand pounds. _I’ll just close my eyes for a minute..._

The next thing he felt was a large, warm hand on his shoulder. He lifted his head and blinked, stared into brown eyes watching him from that wax face. He sat up, realizing he must have fallen asleep, and looked around. There was a sign advertising a city just a mile away- a name Lace recognized. He could figure a way back home from there, he was sure.

The darkness had faded a bit- dawn just appearing on the skyline. Vincent leaned across Lace, grabbing the handle to the truck’s door, and pushed it open. The cold air hit Lace hard, and he wanted to curl up into the warm body next to him for just a moment.

Instead, he swung his legs out the door, but didn’t stand. He looked back at Vincent. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for...for saving me.”

He could have said sparing- but Lace didn’t really think the man he was staring at was a true killer. Even if he wielded a knife, he didn’t have that fire in those eyes Lace expected to see. He was just hot crackling embers that glowed but didn’t harm- so long as you didn’t touch.

“I’m Lace,” he said, reaching out to push a few strands of Vincent’s hair back. “By the way. I feel like I should have told you earlier.”

His fingertips brushed the wax, before he slipped out of the truck. He hesitated a moment, watched as Vincent reached out for the door handle. Before the door shut though, Lace was sure he heard a hoarse, quiet whisper- a voice that had seldom ever seen use, saying his name as if it was a foreign language.

Then the door was closed and the truck was moving again. Lace watched it go, then began walking. It wouldn’t take him long to hit the city. He would have to find a phone- his cell phone had been in the car, and he was sure that was long gone now- but he had some cash crumpled in his jeans. If that didn’t work, he had a mouth and hands. He’d never been ashamed of it before- hell, it might have just saved his life.

As the sun began to pinken the sky, Lace wondered what Vincent was returning to.What was he going to turn those girls into? He felt a strong lack of real remorse for them- they couldn’t be called friends- none of the dancers or whores Lace knew were friends, even if they threw a john his way here and there, they got it back with his drug connections, with the free drinks he slipped them at the bar he tended while they danced and jiggled.

No, Lace wondered what he would turn them into. Those hands- they were rough, used, but warm and large and Lace just wanted them again. He hugged himself against the cold and tipped his head down as he walked. God, what was he thinking? He’d escaped with his life, he could be happy-

But part of him felt like he left something back in that basement. Like something had marked him, claimed him, as if he was no longer his own.

Or was truer than he had ever been, wanting something so dark and unknown and psychotic? A man in a wax mask- right out of a horror movie. _What was with that mask? He didn’t want me to even move it to kiss him..._

When Lace reached the city lines and stepped into a sudden blast of civilization, he suddenly felt everything was too loud, too much. He’d loved the city his whole life, but it made him nauseous now- made him want to curl up and forget everything.

Made him want to hide in a candle lit basement with the smell of wax and those large calloused hands in his hair.


End file.
